


Those Mere Insects, Who Still Gather Toward the Light

by phiremangston



Category: Saiyuki
Genre: Gen, Gen Fic, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Slash, Rain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:46:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phiremangston/pseuds/phiremangston
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were catching drops of rain as it started pouring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Mere Insects, Who Still Gather Toward the Light

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for up to volume 9 of Reload, to be safe, but inspired in part by a random panel in volume 10. Takes place a few days before they reach the oasis. Comments and criticisms are treasured.

Hazel found the sound of cicadas to be calming.  He lay awake in the darkness, resting his head on crossed arms as he stared up at the gathering clouds overhead.  They formed a black curtain across the stars, threatening to overtake the bright whiteness that was the moon.

Hazel didn’t mind.

They had the fire, and it cast a warm glow over everything in their camp.  Much better than the cold pale tinge the moon would have created.  Stark contrasts, black shadows hovering just in the corner of your eye.  An emptiness never observed in the light of day.  Hazel shivered.  But instead of moving closer to the fire, he rose.  He nodded to Gat, who was gently stoking the flames on a log nearby, and took his leave.  Perhaps a walk would do him some good.

Passing carefully across some brush and entering the expanse of forest at the edge of their camp, Hazel made sure to stay in the shadows and away from the moon’s light.  There was a still a sliver visible through the clouds, and he wasn’t in the mood for nostalgia tonight.  Especially since he seemed so susceptible to it lately.  His recent run-in with Mister Ukoku brought to the surface several memories he’d been trying to leave untouched.  It wouldn’t do to get bogged down in the past, not now.  There was too much to do.

Soon he came to the river they had discovered upon settling for the night.  The water flowed and rippled as fish danced through, looking for shelter, or food.  It was deep, he knew that much, though he hadn’t gone in yet.  Deep enough that you couldn’t make out the blues and greens even in the bright sunshine.  It was worse now.  Virtually no color whatsoever.

As Hazel approached, intent on getting a drink from that cool body of water, he was met with a gun in his face.

_Oh.  So that’s where he ran off to._

He blinked into the barrel and tilted his head, seeing an annoyed Sanzo on the other end.  Sanzo made a sound of disgust as he lowered his weapon, seemingly assured that a youkai attack was not imminent.  He holstered his gun, leaning back against a tree facing the river.  Hazel did the same at a tree a few feet away.  He’d eventually learned that invading Sanzo’s personal space was quite a dangerous thing to do.  It took dodging several bullets and a hit to the face once or twice, but he’d learned.

Cicadas chirped.  Hazel glanced at Sanzo.  Sanzo was staring at the river, his jaw twitching.  It looked uncomfortable.  Just as Hazel cleared his throat in an attempt to break the silence, thunder rumbled like a train crashing by.  It was close.  He held his hand out in front of him, palm up, and caught one of the first raindrops of the storm.  The water wavered in his palm for a second before running off and between his fingers.

He heard something that sounded like a growl next to him.  He turned his head to see Sanzo crossing his arms and letting his head fall to his chest, golden hair obscuring his face.  Hazel saw Sanzo’s mouth twist in an odd way, not in anger, but something else.

He would have stayed put.  Really.  He would have.  He probably should have.  But he was starting to get wet, and Sanzo’s tree had more cover.  It was also plenty wide, so Hazel could keep his distance, at least a little.

As refreshing as the rain was, he didn’t want to _wear_ it.

All he received as he took his place next to Sanzo was a particularly harsh glare, so Hazel took that as a win.  But still he didn’t say anything.

Instead he bent over, casually as he could, and neatly picked a cigarette out of Sanzo’s pack.  He let it sit between his lips, quirking slightly at the taste, and held a hand out.  Sanzo stared at him.

“If you please.”

Sanzo kept staring.  Hazel gestured with his outstretched hand, and Sanzo slowly placed the flip-top lighter in the center of his damp palm.  Hazel lit up, inhaling sharply but refusing to cough. He could feel the smoke attempting to tear about the delicate fabric of his lungs. He ignored it. There were more important things at hand.

“The hell?  I thought you hated those things.”

Hazel placed the lighter next to the pack on the ground.  “They will kill you,” he agreed.  “Though I imagine it will be a little slower for me, as I don’t partake several times a day.”

“Thanks for the concern.”  Sarcasm dripped from his words.

“Some days it’s the only thing that can hit the spot.”  He looked at Sanzo from under his eyelashes.  He let a playful twinkle enter his eye.  “…Unless you have something better to offer.”

“Tch.”  Sanzo looked away.  “I never offered _you _anything, idiot.”

This was better.  This was normal.  The bickering; the abuse, really.  But the edge to Sanzo’s voice wasn’t quite as sharp as it normally was.  Something was still off.  Hazel exhaled, watching the smoke swirl in pretty patterns before drifting off into the night.  He’d let Hazel get this close, which was a first.  He’d open up eventually.

Or shoot him in the head.

Minutes passed.  Hazel watched a burnt-orange leaf twirl its way through the rain to land on a stump about ten feet away.  It would be autumn soon.  Hazel missed his homeland, for a minute.  He thought he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Sanzo stealing a glance at him before he quickly looked down again.  His shoulders slumped a bit, revealing an anguish Hazel had never thought the sanzo priest capable of feeling.

“I’m always glad for the rain on a night like this.  It hides the moon, and creates shadows over things that should never be seen in the light.”  Sanzo blew out a huff of air.  Hazel turned his head, resting his temple on the bark of the tree.  He gazed at the hairs covering Sanzo’s downturned face.  “It was raining when he died, wasn’t it?”

If he squinted, he could swear that he saw a tear stream down the priest’s face.  But Sanzo would never allow emotion like that to show.  Especially to Hazel.  It must have been the rain; the wind had picked up, after all, and they were catching drops of rain as it started pouring.

Indeed, when Sanzo looked up, his eyes were dry.  And full of fire.

“What did you say?”

Hazel stood his ground.  He took a long draw from his cigarette, taking care not to blow the smoke in Sanzo’s face.  He crushed it on the ground with the toe of his shoe, maintaining eye contact with Sanzo.

“You’re always like this when it rains.  I can only imagine something terrible must have happened.  Probably when you were quite young.  Too much to ask of a small child, so young.”

And just like that, the fire was gone.  Replaced by an awful despair, mixed with anger at a world so cruel.

“I didn’t choose this life.  It was shoved in my face and they expected me to just do as they fucking asked.”

“You did, though.  That surely counts for something.”

“Tch.”

“It seems we both had our childhoods ripped away from us.”

“Whatever.”

Hazel sighed and ran a hand through his hair.  When it came back down to rest at his side, his hand brushed Sanzo’s, just the slightest bit.  He braced for a blow from the fan, or a snide insult.  But Sanzo didn’t even flinch away.  Hazel looked at him pointedly.  Sanzo pointedly did _not_ look at him.  Hazel raised his eyebrows and glanced at their hands.

He let out a breath, realizing Sanzo’s hand was trembling.  Hazel didn’t comment; that wasn't what was needed of him.  He just stood there.

They leaned against the tree, barely touching, watching the river pass by and the rain scattering the ducks across the way.

Against the tree, barely touching.

The rain would pass soon enough.


End file.
